LES FAMILLES ET LES AMIS

They bathe me. They bathe me with their love, they bathe me with their confidence, and they bathe me with their reassurance. They have stood me in great stead in my struggles with my mental health. They are magicians, they have pulled me back together, knot after knot after knot from my cut pieces. They have brought me an orchestra, they have made the man in doubt disappear.

No one and I mean not a breathing soul can do it on their own. This is no rocket science. As men, it is sometimes; in simple terms; "mind-boggling" to open up about our issues. This is especially rampant in the "African Janadume" … better known as "mwanaume strongs" of society. I would now like to tell you... baptize those tears, dry your eyes, wear your 'big-boy pants, and seek HELP!

I was once very frightened. The thought of opening up made my stomach churn. I mean, how would the patriarchal society view me? I simply did not want to be a social pariah. But I knew for a fact that it would be unwise to hide the boil that was underneath my armpit for sooner or later, it would burst and emit a foul smell. Opening up about my struggles was received with mixed feelings. Some people found it rather uncomfortable and repugnant, whereas the vast majority were indeed understanding and caring with not even a single twinge of aloofness.

My friends, mostly male ( I know, shocking) have assisted me to move out of the doldrums, countless times. Most of them would offer me two or three words of progressive encouragement, others would implore their impeccable sense of humor by trying to make me laugh while another would take me out for a long stroll through the breathtaking campus grounds, where we would try to calm down and practice breathing exercises while we engage in conversations about contemporary issues like; how the new government in Kenya is fairing on or simply how King Charles III would make a perfect king (subject to debate)

{ PS. Thanks, 4A}

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